


Stolen Kisses

by ofsummerstars



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofsummerstars/pseuds/ofsummerstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock takes it upon himself to kiss John at seemingly random moments, leaving John to decipher what this newfound affection means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work does not have a beta so all mistakes are my own. Feel free to let me know if you think anything is amiss.

The first time it happens it’s at the end of a quiet day of domesticity in 221B. Sherlock has spent the afternoon doing an experiment in the kitchen involving human fingernails and a viscous green substance that John is entirely unwilling to query. John, for his part, has spent the day typing up the blog entry for their latest case entitled “The Cyclical Sacrifice”. The case concerned a man who killed four times a year - once every season - as an offering to his dead wife. It was his bizarre method of trying to repent after she became his first victim in a fit of jealousy. Sherlock had gotten an epiphany when John casually mentioned that it was the first day of winter. They had tied up the loose ends of the case three days ago and things had been as relaxed as they possibly could be in Baker Street ever since. 

John finishes his blog entry, closes the lid of laptop and settles down on the sofa. 

“Sherlock, Thai for dinner?” John calls, receiving only a distracted hum of agreement. John has to practically drag Sherlock away from his experiment when the food arrives but he's adamant that Sherlock eats regularly. He's given into the fact that he will never be able to convince Sherlock to eat when they are on a case but he is determined to make up for this fact the rest of the time. It’s a rule that he learned quickly in the army. One has to eat, drink and sleep when they have the chance. God knows that the life he and Sherlock lead is their own personal war zone a lot of the time and they never really know when the next opportunity to fulfil these basic human needs will arise. 

Once John eventually manages to drag Sherlock away from the general kitchen area he settles down on the sofa beside John quite happily and begins gorging on the Pad Thai placed in front of him. He sprawls out across the sofa in typical Sherlock fashion, tucking his bare feet under John’s legs. 

“Oi, they’re cold!” John exclaims, trying to lean away from them. Sherlock merely wriggles his toes, burying his feet deeper into the warmth radiating from John’s legs. 

John grunts in exasperation but stops trying to move away from the contact. If he’s honest, the type of intimacy they share is pleasant. Sherlock’s complete disregard for personal space might not be normal for flatmates or even friends but a small part of John enjoys it. More than just a small part of him really. This is especially true upon noting that aside from Mrs. Hudson, John seems to be the only person whose physical contact Sherlock doesn’t reject. 

John switches on the tv and they spend the rest of the evening watching QI and Criminal Minds. His attention is quickly diverted from the programs themselves in favour of listening to Sherlock’s complaints that the information on QI is useless and the crimes on Criminal Minds are obvious and ridiculous. It should irritate John; he knows it should. He should want to be able to watch his shows in peace but frankly, Sherlock is far more entertaining. 

He absentmindedly begins rubbing circles over Sherlock’s ankle with his thumb. After a few moments he realises what he is doing and freezes, his hand stilling on Sherlock’s ankle. He glances over at Sherlock in alarm but finds that his flatmate's eyes are half closed in a contented calmness, much like a cat enjoying being petted. This reassures John and he resumes his gentle massage of this small patch of Sherlock’s body. 

Eventually, John’s own eyes begin to close with a mixture of relaxation and tiredness. Knowing that his injured shoulder will not thank him if he falls asleep on the sofa John shakes himself and stands slowly, trying to ease out the stiffness in his joints. 

“Right, I’m off to bed. Try and get some sleep tonight, Sherlock,” John says, his tone laced with fondness. 

John begins walking towards the stairs, not expecting a reply but halts when he hears Sherlock mutter an almost imperceptible “John”. 

He pivots to find Sherlock striding across the room to stand in front of him. Sherlock pauses for a moment, looking John dead in the eye. Then he lowers his head, placing a soft kiss to John’s cheek. John inhales sharply, his cheek tingling from the contact. 

“Good night, John,” Sherlock says in a hushed tone, before turning on his heel and flopping down onto the sofa with his back turned away from the room.

John stands as still as a statue for a few moments, confused between the affection of the kiss and Sherlock’s apparent detachment now. He moves towards the stairs again and pauses at the bottom.

“Good night, Sherlock,” he murmurs before ascending to the safety of his bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

The second time it happens they have just completed a case which has left Sherlock in the particularly bad position of having gone four nights without sleep. John sharply informs Lestrade that they will fill out the required paperwork the following day before lumbering Sherlock into a waiting taxi.

Once they are in the cab Sherlock slumps against John’s shoulder. John knows that this is due to requirement as much as anything else. After five days of running around London without an hour of sleep to his name Sherlock is no longer capable of so much as holding his own head up. 

They sit in silence and John can hear Sherlock’s breathing begin to even out. He is merely relaxing and winding down, not quite asleep yet. Sherlock is not the type of person who can sleep easily outside of Baker Street. There is too much noise, too many people and things to observe out in the streets of London. 

John begins petting the top of Sherlock’s head, trying to soothe and relax him further. It had been a particularly trying case and even Sherlock had been rattled when the suspect pressed a gun to John’s temple. For John, the fleeting moment of panic and doubt in Sherlock’s expression was worse than the being held at gunpoint part. Of course, Sherlock did eventually manage to lower the suspect’s guard enough to allow Lestrade to tackle him from behind and take the gun out of his hand. Yet, this did not erase the fear that Sherlock had felt. 

Sherlock leans into the touch, a soft moan of pleasure coming from him as the taxi pulls up to Baker Street. The noise shoots straight to John’s groin but he collects himself, mentally chastising himself for his reaction to the noise. He knows Sherlock is not attracted to him. He is merely enjoying the feeling of being comforted by a friend in the same way anyone would. 

John pays the driver and jogs around to the other side of the car, throwing Sherlock’s arm over his shoulders and hauling him through the doorway and up the steps to 221B. He continues this through their flat until they reach Sherlock’s bedroom. John only disentangles himself from Sherlock when they get to the edge of the bed which Sherlock proceeds to plant face first onto. John wrestles with Sherlock’s bony figure to try and pull off his jacket, receiving no help from the man himself. He stoops and yanks off both of Sherlock’s shoes. John pulls and prods at Sherlock’s body until he is successfully under the covers on the verge of sleep, albeit still dressed in his purple silk shirt and black trousers.

John leaves the room, mentally debating between sleep and food. He is stopped in his tracks just outside the door when he hears Sherlock’s panicked voice calling for him.

“Yes, Sherlock?” John inquires, beginning to get irritated as his own exhaustion threatens to take over. Sleep first, then. 

“John, I’m sorry,” Sherlock says, his voice low and almost childlike. The words - so rare from the usually composed man - startle John.

“What for?” John asks with concern, coming to perch on the side of Sherlock’s bed. 

“You were held at gunpoint tonight, John. I almost got you killed again. One day you’ll get hurt and it’ll be my fault,” he says, sounding matter-of-fact but the anxiety flickering over his features gives him away. His eyes are cast downwards, unable to look at John, and his jaw is clenched. 

John shakes his head. “This isn’t your fault. Sherlock, look at me.” Sherlock finally meets John’s gaze and his features relax slightly at whatever he finds there. “This is not your fault. I choose to do this with you and you can’t always predict what people are going to do. I accept the risk involved in being with—“ He pauses and clears his throat. “The risk in working with you.”

“But I should have known. I should have-“

“No, stop. Just no,” John interjects. 

John eyes bore into Sherlock’s, willing him to understand that he would risk anything to remain in Sherlock company. He nods to confirm their shared understanding and receives a small nod back. Sherlock leans over and presses a kiss to John’s cheek, much like the kiss in the sitting room a couple of weeks previously. He lingers there for a few moments, lightly brushing his forehead along John’s cheek as he pulls away. He then slides back down onto his pillow and closes his eyes. 

John looks at his flatmate for a few seconds, more confused than ever, before nodding slightly again and leaving the room. 

He makes his way up to his own bedroom, considering what had just happened. It was obviously just his guilt surfacing, his way of making sure John understood he was sorry. There was no romantic intent behind it, was there? No, of course not. Sherlock was married to his work. He told John so at their first dinner together in Angelo’s. Sherlock’s not available, even if that was what John wanted. Is that what he wants? John pushes the thought from his mind, deciding that his night has been far too eventful already to even begin thinking down that path. 

He collapses into bed, falling asleep while still able to feel the faint prickle from where Sherlock’s sensational lips had been only minutes previously.


	3. Chapter 3

John tries to suck air into his lungs, completely out of breath from their excursions running through London. They had been chasing the mastermind at the centre of a case to do with the smuggling of rare manuscripts. Things had gotten messy when they were caught in a tight situation when they found themselves surrounded by three of the man’s accomplices and chose flight over fight. Sherlock shoved John into a small alleyway, waiting to make sure that they had lost the men.

So that's where they are now. Stuck hiding in an alleyway. The sound of rapid footsteps approaching the opening of the alley is audible and Sherlock clamps a hand over John’s mouth, trying to mask the sound of his heaving breathing. Sherlock is standing with his front to John’s back and he buries his face into the back of John’s shoulder in an attempt to silence his own gasps for air. 

Eventually the footsteps die away and Sherlock removes the hand covering John’s mouth. However, he keeps his head against John’s shoulder and places both of his hands on John’s upper arms. John stiffens for a moment and then relaxes himself, feeling comforted by the warmth. They remain like that in silence for a couple of minutes until John begins to become fully aware of their surroundings again. They are in a darkened alley late at night being searched for by four rather large men who will do God-knows-what to them if they’re found.

“Sherlock, shouldn’t we probably be leaving?” John asks, finally breaking the silence.

“I suppose,” Sherlock murmurs, still not moving.

“About now would be good,” John prompts, not wanting to be the first one to break this newfound intimacy between himself and his flatmate. 

Sherlock does not respond but instead lightly runs his fingertips up and down John’s arms over his checkered shirt, eliciting a small shiver from the doctor. John closes his eyes, once again baffled by the actions of this man who never fails to stun him. He is once again acutely aware that this is most likely a response to some fear over John’s safety but John is beginning to admit to himself that he likes it. Therefore, he is unwilling to move away from Sherlock even though he knows he probably should. Instead, he finds himself waiting to see what the detective will do next.

“You’re not wearing a coat,” Sherlock says disapprovingly, moving his hands more briskly in a clear effort to warm John. 

“Well, you dragged me out of the flat to chase down Kellerman before I had the chance to grab it.” 

“I see your point but you must admit the importance of cornering him in the brief window of time presented to us had to take precedent over anything else. Nevertheless-“ 

Sherlock stops abruptly, finally pulling himself away from John and shrugging out of his long coat in one swift move. He moves in again, pulling up one of John’s arms to pull the arm of the coat over it and then moving to the other side. The coat is too big on John which should be mortifying. Yet, it is heavy and warm from having been on Sherlock in a way that is so pleasant that he can’t bring himself to complain. 

John feels Sherlock’s breath against the back of his neck as he leans in, pausing for a moment before planting a kiss on the exposed skin of his neck above the coat collar. Sherlock stills there for a few moments before taking a small step back and popping up the collar.

“Now you can look cool, John,” Sherlock says, producing a chuckle from John at the memory from their time in Dartmoor. 

“I don’t quite have the cheekbones for it though.” 

Sherlock joins John in his mirth for a moment, the corners of his lips pulling into a quick grin. This is a real one, the smile that goes to his eyes rather than the fake smirk that he uses to manipulate others. This is the smile that he reserves for John and once in a while for Mrs. Hudson. 

“Ready?” Sherlock asks, breaking the moment and preparing himself to run again. 

John takes a few seconds to savour the merriment lingering on Sherlock’s features. He then gives Sherlock the sharp nod of a soldier and they take off again, heading in the direction of Baker Street.


	4. Chapter 4

John is still in the throes of his nightmare when he is startled awake by a cool hand shaking gently at his uninjured shoulder. He sits bolt upright for a moment and then collapses back onto the pillows, his breathing still heavy. Fragments of his nightmare persist in flashing through his mind: the echoing sound of gunfire, the impact of a bullet, the blood (his blood). 

John can feel tears prickling in his eyes but tries to fight them back as he becomes aware of a long-fingered hand stroking his head. 

“You’re alright, John. You’re currently in Baker Street. Not Afghanistan. You are safe,” the familiar voice soothes in his low baritone. 

John can just about make out Sherlock’s profile in the darkness but even that is enough to begin to ground him. _Sherlock. I’m fine, I’m with Sherlock._ Yet, despite this knowledge he can still feel the aftershocks of the vivid dream; still feel the absolute certainty that he was about to die. 

His body trembles as he struggles to push away the memory and bring himself back to Baker Street. It is still too soon after the dream to feel entirely safe again. Usually it isn’t until he gets up the next morning and descends to the chaos of their flat that he truly feels at ease. He has spent more that one night lying there for hours shaking, not able to free himself from the war.

John feels Sherlock’s hand move away from his head. After a few moments the duvet is pulled back and there is a dip in the mattress beside him.

“Sherlock? What—” John attempts to question but his voice breaks with lingering fear. 

The consulting detective does not make any effort to reply. Instead he shimmies and shifts until he is close enough to John that he can feel his body heat while still not quite touching. He resumes his calming stroke of John’s hair, mimicking the way John had comforted Sherlock on the taxi ride home a week previously. 

John has his back to Sherlock with his hands clasped together at his chest. Sherlock tentatively places his free hand over John’s, beginning to rub circles on his wrist. _He’s comforting me in the same ways that I’ve attempted with him,_ John realises. 

John feels the remaining tension begin to melt away from his body as he basks in the physical contact between himself and the baffling, mad, amazing man beside him.

After a couple of minutes of this John decides that he wants to see Sherlock’s face to try and glean some sort idea of what he’s thinking. He twists around and Sherlock removes both of his hands to accommodate the movement. 

When he is finally facing Sherlock the expression he sees on the consulting detective’s face is so intensely open and vulnerable that he doesn’t know what to say. There is concern and anxiety and possibly affection flitting across his features in such rapid succession that John doesn’t know which one to hone in on. 

_Is it possible? Does he actually care?_

John mentally shakes himself, sure that he’s creating false hope. This is all too much so soon after his nightmare. Suddenly John’s not sure if he wants to take a risk and give into the fantasy of Sherlock completely or go running for the hills.

“Sleep, John,” Sherlock whispers softly. John glances up at him and sees that he has his eyes closed but the soothing circles have begun on his wrist again as if he can sense John’s new wave of fear. 

He decides that not analysing the situation at all is the best option for tonight and he really is quite tired. More sleep does sound rather appealing.

Just as he closes his eyes he feels Sherlock shift and bring their faces close together. John keeps his eyes closed, suddenly becoming exceedingly aware of his own heartbeat. After a few moments Sherlock leans forward and rubs their noses together softly. An eskimo kiss. He moves his head back but keeps his body so it’s just grazing against John. 

“Everything’s fine, John. Sleep now.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long everyone. I was in England for a couple of weeks and then back to college so I've had no time. That also means this may be a little rough around the edges. I'm only planning two more chapters at the moment but we'll see how it goes. As always, reviews and criticism are extremely welcome.

John stands at the edge of the crime scene beside Lestrade, tracking Sherlock’s movements with his eyes. Sherlock is pacing up and down, giving his lavish account of the deductions he had made about the lorry driver lying dead in front of them. John’s concentration on Sherlock’s words is continually lapsing in favour of watching the lithe grace of his body as he moves.

“John, would you stop contemplating trivial matters and focus for a moment?” Sherlock snaps, noticing John’s distraction but clearly not the reason for it. 

John smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?”

Sherlock sighs. “Honestly, John. You know I don’t like to repeat myself. I was querying why he pulled over to the side of the M25 when he was only approximately 45 miles from his destination.”

John shakes his head, inwardly asking himself if a time will ever come when he is not constantly awestruck by the man before him. He highly doubts it since the chances of Sherlock unpredictability coming to a halt are slim to nil. _The case,_ John reminds himself.

“Well, there’s a cap on the number of hours a lorry driver is allowed to drive for. It’s no more than 9 hours in a day so a lot of them just pull over and get some kip while they wait. Not worth the risk, I suppose. Not that it did him any good in this case.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen and John can practically see the lightbulb flashing on above his head as all of the pieces slot in place.

“Yes, John!” Sherlock cries triumphantly. He circles round the yellow markers and strides towards John. “That’s exactly it.” Sherlock stops in front of John, places his hands on either side of John’s face and plants a swift, chaste kiss on his lips. It’s merely a firm press of the lips really. Before John has any chance to react or respond Sherlock has turned his back and begun pacing again, launching into an explanation of the epiphany John had prompted. 

John isn’t taking in a single word, still reeling from what had just happened. Sherlock had kissed him. On the mouth. Granted, there didn’t seem to be much of a sexual undertone to this kiss but it was a kiss nevertheless. Sherlock had done it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he didn’t need to give it a second thought. What does that mean? John feels a rush of confusion and uncertainty was over him. Lately, with all of this strange affection, John hasn’t quite been able to get his footing and this certainly hasn’t helped matters any. 

He glances over at Lestrade who is clearly sharing in his confusion, looking from John to Sherlock and back to John again with an expression of complete bewilderment on his face. John merely shrugs in response. He can’t explain it to himself, let alone to someone else. 

John turns back in Sherlock’s direction only to find him striding off towards the road and hopping into a taxi.

“Fucking hell, Sherlock,” John exclaims as he goes racing after Sherlock, trying to spot another taxi. Clearly he’s not going to get a chance to think things through today and isn’t that just typical of life with Sherlock Holmes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so so sorry this took so long guys. Life kind of got in the way. Thanks for reading though, I appreciate it and any review/comments!

John has finally decided that enough is enough. It is time to talk to Sherlock and find out what the hell has been going on with him lately. John is relatively certain that all of the casual affection from Sherlock means nothing, that it’s just another example of his complete lack of respect for personal boundaries but he still feels like it’s something that needs addressing if Sherlock’s going to be taking it upon himself to kiss him at crime scenes in front of everybody.

Sherlock bounds in through the front door, already in mid sentence. “…wholly incompetent. Where on earth does Lestrade find these idiots, John?”

Just another day at NSY then, John thinks to himself. He decides to get straight to the point before he chickens out. 

“Sherlock, we need to talk.”

Sherlock pauses, eying John up and down appraisingly. After a few moments he gives a curt nod and sits in his chair with his legs beneath him.

John goes for the direct tactic, thinking that Sherlock wouldn’t appreciate him beating around the bush. “What’s been going on with you - with us - lately?”

“Would you care to be a bit more specific, John? I may be a genius but I’m not a mindreader. I can’t respond to a question when I don’t know the context?”

John shakes his head. Of course Sherlock hadn’t realised that there could only be one thing that he was speaking of. 

“Well, you keep touching me and..”, John clearly his throat, blushing a bit at having to spell this out. “And.. em.. you kissed me. You’ve kissed me a few times now.”

“Yes.”

John can feel himself starting to get angry. Why does he have to be such a difficult bastard all the time? John sighs heavily and stands up from his chair.

“And you don’t think there’s anything strange about that, Sherlock?”

“I had my reasons,” Sherlock replies in an even tone.

John gesticulates franticly with his hands in exasperation before heading for the kitchen and putting the kettle on. He goes through the motions of making two cups of tea, using the process to calm himself down slightly. He should have realised that having this conversation with Sherlock was never going to be straightforward. Sherlock’s romantic history was the one area that John had never managed to get a straight answer about. John returns to the sitting room with the two cups of tea, putting one down by Sherlock a little harder than necessary so the liquid swished around the cup precariously and then sank into his own chair, holding his cup in back hands almost as an anchor. 

“Ok, I’m sorry about this but I have to ask. Are you a virgin?” John asks, the words escaping from his mouth before he has the chance to censor himself.

Sherlock’s brow creases slightly but his face quickly returns to the masked expression he often wears. “No. I appreciate that many crimes are motivated by love or jealousy and that sex often plays a part. Therefore, I experimented enough in university to gain the required knowledge.”

John winces slightly at the bluntness but he can’t say it’s much different to what he expected.

“So you’ve never had feelings for someone? Never had sex with someone you loved or even just had a fondness for?”

Sherlock looks confused, like the idea had never occurred to him. Seeing as how John seems to be the first person that Sherlock has allowed into his life fully, it probably hasn’t occurred to him. He thinks silently for a few moments before responding.

“I’ve always found sex messy and unnecessary and kissing a downright pointless expression of sentimentality.”

“But you kissed me.”

A faint blush rises over Sherlock’s cheeks which takes John by surprise. He doesn’t think he has ever seen Sherlock even vaguely embarrassed before. “Yes.” 

“Why?”

“Testing a theory,” Sherlock replies, stubbornly refusing to be helpful.

“What theory?”

Sherlock jumps up out of his chair and begins pacing the room, a nervous energy taking over his entire body suddenly. “You make me feel, John. Feel all of these emotions and they’re so much, so intense,” Sherlock spits out accusingly. 

John’s breath catches. No, it can’t be...

“So, the kisses?”

“I wanted to see if my reactions to you in this regard - my feelings for you - spread as far as physical attraction.”

“And?”

“Apparently it does.”

John looks up at Sherlock and suddenly he can see the vulnerability and the fear written all over the man’s face. Where John was anxious and irritable before, now a calm washes over him as he realises that Sherlock has no idea how to do this. He rises to his feet and steps towards Sherlock, standing close enough so they’re not touching but he can feel the heat radiating off Sherlock.

“So when you kissed me at the crime scene, that was meant to be a display of your feelings for me?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock replies, going for scathing but the slight shake in his voice diminishes the effect.

“Had you ever kissed anyone before that?”

“I never saw the point.”

John smiles sadly at the realisation that this beautiful but damaged man in front of him has never had anyone who really cared for him and has never gotten to experience sentiment for another person. Before now.

John takes another small step forward so their bodies are just barely touching one another. “Mind if I show you how it’s done?”

He sees the surprise register on Sherlock’s face before he nods minutely which is all the assurance John needs. John closes the gap between them, and meets Sherlock’s lips with what is merely a gentle brushing of their lips. After a few moments he increases the pressure and Sherlock’s lips part slightly with a soft sigh as his body begins to relax. John flicks his tongue out, just enough to ghost along Sherlock’s bottom lip. Sherlock mirrors the movement, clearly trying to pick up John’s technique. John slides his tongue into Sherlock’s mouth where the other man’s tongue rises up to meet his. 

They stand like that for a few minutes, kissing in the middle of their sitting room with their tongues lazily entwined. John presses his body flush against Sherlock’s and feels his erection pushing against his hip. Up until now John was only semi erect but feeling the proof of Sherlock’s desire for him makes him fully hard in a matter of moments. Their kisses turn from lazy and gentle to hard and insistent. John reaches down between them and cups Sherlock’s cock outside his trousers, massaging gently which elicits a low groan from the detective. John breaks apart, but holds their foreheads against one another while both men pant heavily. 

“Well, I suppose that answers the sexual attraction question then,” John

“Indeed,” Sherlock chuckles, a low vibration that John can feel in his own chest.

“What do you want for me here, Sherlock?”

“I want you to take me to bed.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is finally finished. I'm sorry it took so long from when I started, I ended up not having a laptop for a long time in between. Thank you to anyone who stuck with it and any new readers. Enjoy this final update!
> 
> Also you can find me over at vowofsherlock.tumblr.com if you so wish.

John grasps Sherlock’s hand, and leads him down the hall to Sherlock’s bedroom. He walks Sherlock backwards until the backs of his legs hit the bed and his tumbles down, losing his usual grace for a moment. Sherlock shifts back on the bed until he’s propped up against the pillows and John climbs onto the mattress, with one knee on either side of Sherlock’s thighs. John leans down and kisses Sherlock bruisingly, feeling the detectives hips pump up slightly below him. Sherlock lets out a long, deep groan as John moves away from his mouth and peppers kisses along his jawline and down his neck.

The noise brings John back to awareness for a moment and he pauses in his ministrations, moving up to look at Sherlock in the eye. 

“Sherlock, this is a bit quick by normal standards. We just had our first real kiss not five minutes ago.”

Sherlock’s eyes move over John’s face searchingly. “Do you not want to do this? The erection currently pressed against my hip tells me otherwise but I don’t pretend to know much about the human condition and-“

“No, I do!” John interrupts. “Really, seriously I do. God, yes. Definitely. I’m just making sure you’re alright. There’s a bit of a difference between sex for the sake of experimentation and sex with someone you actually care about.”

Sherlock leans up and presses a soft kiss to John’s lip, caressing his cheek gently as he does so. When they break apart Sherlock moved back only slightly so he can still feel John’s breath against his skin. 

“John, I want this. Please. Just… just let me kiss you.”

John nods in affirmation and Sherlock rolls them over so he is straddling John’s hips. He reaches down and starts unbuttoning John’s shirt, placing kisses on each new patch of exposed skin. John lies back and thinks about all of the chaste kisses they’ve shared lately, and how entirely different this experience is. Sherlock has a mouth made for kissing and it’s only now being put to its best use.

Sherlock pulls John up into a sitting position which presses their cocks between their bodies, eliciting a moan from both men. He slips John’s shirts off his shoulders and takes the opportunity to swiftly unbutton his own shirt, flinging it onto the floor. Meanwhile John works on unbuckling Sherlock’s belt and opening the button and fly on his trousers. They separate for a moments so they can each slip off their trousers and pants in haste, and suddenly it’s just them and miles of glorious skin with no barriers.

Sherlock pushes John back down onto the bed and pulls him into a frankly filthy kiss, all wet, sliding tongues and clashing teeth and wonderful heat. He allows his hands to finally wander, smoothing over whatever of John’s skin they can find. When one hand brushes over a nipple, making John gasp, he decided that this requires further investigation. He moves his body lower in the bed and licks over John’s right nipple before closing his mouth over it and catching it between his teeth gently, suckling slightly. This makes John’s hips buck up in response and his right hand clenches and unclenches in the bedsheets at the sensation. Sherlock moves onto the other one, only serving to intensify the response from John.

He moves on to his his way down John’s body, planting gentle kisses on the soft skin on his thighs while carefully avoiding John’s cock which is now completely engorged with a bead of pre come on the tip. 

“Sherlock, please,” John gasps, his hips rolling slightly in an involuntary response. 

“Can I kiss you here, John?” Sherlock asks, a slight air of mischief in his voice as he brushes his fingertips oh so light along the shaft of John’s cock.

“Ah, yes Sherlock. Oh God.”

Sherlock presses a kiss to the tip before parting his lips and flicking his tongue out to taste the bead of pre come there. It is bitter and salty and pure, concentrated John. Suddenly Sherlock goes from teasing to full on, hungrily engulfing John in the wet heat of his mouth. John’s hands come down to rest in Sherlock’s hair, just tugging on the curls ever so slightly. Sherlock pulls John into his mouth as far as he can take, his tongue running along the underside of John’s cock. John makes the mistake of glancing down and the sight of that beautiful mouth stretched tight around him is almost enough to send him over the edge. After a few more minutes of this John feels a familiar heat begin to coil in his stomach.

“Sherlock. Sherlock! If you don’t stop— I’m going to—“ Sherlock releases John from his mouth with a wet pop making him groan in frustration.

“Well, we can’t have that now,” Sherlock says, a sly grin on his face. He crawls up the bed to kiss John and John can taste himself on Sherlock’s tongue. 

More than ready to come now, John aligns his hips with Sherlock’s and arches upwards, bringing Sherlock’s awareness completely back to his own aching hard-on. John does it again and Sherlock growls lowly so John can barely hear it but it’s enough to encourage him. He reaches down and grasps both of their cocks in his hand, sliding his hand up and down, causing Sherlock’s breath to hitch. Sherlock spits on his palm and brings his hand down to move alongside John’s. 

With so little experience it doesn’t take long for Sherlock to come now that he’s being touched. John relishes that moment when he hears Sherlock moan and his features contort. Then, his face freezes and his muscles tighten like a bow and he’s falling into bliss, hot, wet spurts of his release covering John’s hand where it’s still moving slightly on Sherlock’s cock. Then he relinquishes his hold and proceeds to move his hand up and down his on erection, faster now with Sherlock’s come creating a glorious friction. After a few moments John is coming too, his vision whiting out with the violence of it. 

When they come back to awareness they’re a tangle of limbs on the bed, Sherlock collapsed on top of John as a heavy weight on his stomach. 

John chuckles and wipes his hand on the sheet, smoothing the other one through Sherlock’s hair.

“So, physical attraction?”

“Mmmm,” Sherlock responded, sounding completely sated.

“Emotional attraction?” 

“Apparently.”

John clears his throat, a little embarrassed over his next question but knowing it needs to be asked.

“Romantic intention?” 

Sherlock raises his head off John’s chest to look at him, making a blush rise in John’s cheeks.

“Obviously. If you’ll have me.”

A beam erupts on John’s face, elation passing over all of his features.

“Of course I’ll have you, you daft sod. Come here.”

Sherlock smiles, his special smile that is only for John and crawls lazily up to lay on the pillows beside John. John pulls him into an embrace, circling his arms around Sherlock and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“So then. Together?”

“Always.”

They lie there in silence for a few moments, relishing in this newfound contentment from having found everything they wanted or never knew they wanted in the other person. 

“Right,” John says, sitting up and tugging at Sherlock’s arm. “Time for a shower, I think.”

“Mmmm,” Sherlock murmurs noncommittally, burrowing deeper into the pillow.

“Come on. Now, Sherlock. I do believe I owe you some kisses.”

Sherlock is up and on his way sauntering to the bathroom before John even has a chance to blink. 

What have I gotten myself into?, he thinks. That doesn't stop the smile that he can’t get off his face as he follows Sherlock to the shower. 

A lifetime of experiments and chases and frustration. But also a lifetime of love and partnership and kisses that never need to be stolen. That’s what John Watson has let himself in for.

 

FINIS


End file.
